It's Still Life

The Old Woman’s Waffle Iron Predicts the Future

The waffle iron arrives
thrift-shop-worn and hissing.

Its hinges creak like gypsy’s bones,
its non-stick grids etched with symbols
that might be Nordic runes.

The old woman pours batter,
and the first prophecy bubbles up:
“BEWARE THE 3RD TUESDAY OF NEXT WEEK.”
She flips it, and squints:
“Also, your cat is definitely plotting something.”

The cat licks its paw, unimpressed:
“I told you Tuesdays were sketchy.
Now where’s the syrup?”

The crow drops
a stolen lottery stub into the batter.
“Next week’s numbers are…”
The waffle iron burps, and spells out:
“7, 15, 23, NOPE, 42.”

The cat rezones the kitchen
as a betting shop.

“A small price for clairvoyance,” she nods,
circling tomorrow’s cricket scores.